An unopened letter

                                         An unopened letter def.  A letter that still lies unopened

As one writes there is this discovery that keeps happening, you keep evolving, you start to notice how words function together to be lyrical, persuasive and attractive to the eye. It takes a while to notice this occurrence but eventually it happens, and once you notice it, you feel like you’re floating above ground.

I have been writing for as long as I remember, not counting writing for academic reasons, just writing because I have something to say. Something to say? That’s an important element in writing; something to say doesn’t really refer to having something to say to people but rather something to say to yourself. Most writings I do are reflecting on my thoughts, it is me sharing myself with the world. When I write I feel like I am giving information about myself to the world, with a little bit of hope that someone can identify.

I remember one of the first important writings I ever did in my life, and it was a writing I never was able to share. It was a letter; at this point I had written quite a lot; I mean I had a diary I always kept jotting stuff on. I believed myself to be a poet, although I hated the word poet because frankly, I wasn’t writing as great as the poems I was reading. It was in high school, I was a 13-year-old kid in love, with one of the prettiest girls in class.

Her name was Nondumiso, tall and dark skinned. She had a chirped tooth, but it wasn’t a flaw, it made her even more gorgeous. She was slightly hairy, had sensual baby hair side burns. Looking at her was like looking at those rays of sunshine that peak through the clouds, a small but marvellous moment.

It was one of those occasions in school when we wore casual clothes, funny day if I remember correctly. That day, she, Nondumiso sat across me, she wore a loose black dress, held by tiny strings on the herm and lady ‘sandals’. She was looking prettier than usual. She usually sat far behind me, but today, it was rebel day, technically anyone could sit anywhere, and she chose to sit right across me; well her friends sat at my desk, so, yeah. Yes, there she was, a hand reach away, and I couldn’t even lift my eyes to look across me. That is when I saw her legs, she didn’t have gorgeous sensual legs I can admit that, but to me, they were paradise.

So, on a piece of paper I wrote a short poem about how gorgeous her legs look, I literally spoke about her legs as if they were a girl I was hitting on. I don’t how it happened, my friend next to me got a hold of the paper, and somehow after it circled the whole group where I sat, it was in her hand.

My heart was out of chest. I couldn’t breathe. She read it. She was smiling and blushing. I only know that now since I am older, back then I just registered it as she wasn’t mad at the writing. Next moment I get a piece of paper, asking if I wrote that for her. I was shaking, I replied yes, she said she loved it. If I was a cartoon my heart probably exploded that day.

You’d think after that things would be clear as daylight, that it was a win for me, but not really. I wasn’t cut from a cloth of charm unfortunately; I mean I realised now that I am older how much she tried to let me ‘get her’; neither did I see those signals nor had the guts to actually go for it. So, for years in high school I was in love with this girl, Nondumiso. I mean I wrote so many poems about her, in my diary, such whack writing but it was cute.

Three years later, I was still in love with her, she had a boyfriend throughout High school, I didn’t care, to me she was just experimenting with the other guys, I was her man. So, in the final year of matric 2008, I made a decision that I will confess my feelings to her, through a letter. I mean I had nothing to lose, I was never going to see her again. So, I drafted a letter, it took many drafts, I had a lot to say. I finished the letter, wrapped and sealed it with paper, decorated it, I mean it was a love letter, it had to look good.

On prom day/matric dance day, I had the letter tucked into my blazer, my mom worked hard to get me that fine suit I had, I hate suits, but that one still ranks as my favourite, not because it was that good but because I knew were it came from, I didn’t even want to go to prom at one point. Anyway, there I was, hours before the ceremony began, I am standing, actually a few of us are standing, by the ‘bar area’. We were too early, but there she was across me, looking even more beautiful than ever, a flower that glows in the dark.

I tap my inside pocket to see if the letter is still there, it was, I breathe and I walk up towards her. She looks up, and she sees me coming. As Kevin Hart says “I see her, see me, see her”
I couldn’t do it.

After three years of battling my feelings, I was defeated, I couldn’t give her the letter. I mean that’s all I had to do right? No consequences in just handing the letter to her? Well I think it probably had horrible spelling but I was young, fuck it. I had poured all my feelings in that letter. It was the first real thing I ever wrote; just a young man trying to express his feelings to a girl. After that, I never opened that letter, it still lies somewhere at home under my bed somewhere; I last saw it in 2015, I looked at this stupid childish design of an envelope and I laughed, I was tempted to open it, just to see what I said, but I decided not to.

At the age I am in, I have now written a lot of ‘love’ letter or poetic writings. I am able to freely express how I feel and share those feelings. Sometimes I am lucky that the people I share those feelings with reciprocate them back. I don’t think I would change how things happened that day at prom, I like the idea that I don’t know what could’ve happened.

Some of us have difficulty expressing how we feel and possibly who we are, I think writing is one-way people can be able to express themselves. The writing doesn’t have to be poetic, all you have to do is tell your story; someone will listen to it.

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